


Burning Fires In This Mouth

by castoffstarter



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castoffstarter/pseuds/castoffstarter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall doesn't know what he wants even when he gets it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Fires In This Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> this was written quick and dirty for cyclogenesis on the occasion of her birth, which means it could do with a bunch of editing and re-structuring but that never happened. maybe someday I'll have it in me to jump back in.

Getting back in the studio makes them all a little giddy, their excitement dimmed only slightly by the tight schedule they’re working with, with tour coming up and signings in every city. Savan, Carl, and Rami make them feel the pressure every day, insisting on early call times when Harry can’t even clear his throat properly, let alone sing, but they work through it because they have to, because they can. And it’s fun, too, because they get to sit around actually writing music together, and Niall can’t help the swell of pride he gets when they find a good hook and Zayn sings out nonsense lyrics until they find the right words.   
  
They find the right words, too, the five of them outside on the patio, passing sandwiches around and writing down lyrics, pens slipping in their greasy fingers so that when they read them back later they look like children’s scratch. Niall can feel his own importance grow. His harmonies are still overused and his voice underdeveloped, but he tells himself it’s too early to worry about fair shares and feels guilty when he thinks of himself and not  the band .  
  
And anyway he was promised he could be part of the studio ensemble, that he could lay down some parts, especially the ones he and the lads come up with, just to try it out, so he doesn’t dwell for long. 

\--

Louis’s a perfectionist. Niall knew it from the off, having witnessed how deliberately he presented himself during bootcamp, the frustration during dance rehearsals enough to make everyone around him anxious. In the studio Louis is single-minded. He obsesses over the tiniest details in tone and rhythm with each track, and Niall secretly wishes the public could see this side of him sometimes, how controlled and serious he can be, because Louis works harder than all of them, for his solos especially. He never wanders off like everyone else if it’s not his turn in the booth. He stays close, listens intently with this closed off look on his face, and it makes them all better, Niall would swear on it. Because he pushes them when he knows they’re not at their best, hyperfocusing so much that his compliments are some of the best Niall’s ever received. Niall doesn’t think Louis even knows what criticism is -- he just pushes.  
  
Niall’s not always sure Harry gets it. Harry’s idea of professionalism is taking his pants off for a laugh while he records. The booth becomes uninhabitable with Harry in it, all the lads know, because he will eventually try to kiss you or pinch you or take off your clothing while you’re trying to focus. Which isn’t to say that Harry doesn’t care, doesn’t work hard, Niall would never think that with all of the painstaking vocal training he does, slipping off to the loo when he thinks no one will notice just to cough and cough and try new notes in the natural acoustic space. His voice has lowered even more in the time since X-Factor, and he knows Harry struggles to find himself in it every day. But it baffles Niall, how Louis and Harry seem to swap roles in these instances.   
  
Except sometimes, sometimes it all makes sense. As much sense as Louis and Harry ever make.  
  
They’ve been recording for less than a week when Louis has a particularly bad day. One of the parts written specifically for his voice is still three notes outside of his range, and he spends all afternoon stretching his vocal chords as far as he can, refusing to leave even after their session time is up. They all stay on as a show of solidarity, because he would be the first to reciprocate, but there isn’t much they can actually  do . Zayn and Liam try to keep busy, getting out their laptop and iPad so Louis doesn’t feel like a caged thing, but Niall can’t fake it as well, and so his guitar sort of lays in his lap while he tries not to stare. He even starts an #AskNiall on Twitter only to forget to actually answer any questions.   
  
Harry, though, Harry stays in the booth with Louis. He sits patiently, unmoving, back against the door. Niall can only see the back of his head through the glass, so he can’t tell what exactly Harry’s doing, but as Harry’s phone is sitting on the couch next to Zayn’s thigh, he thinks it’s absolutely nothing. He hasn’t moved for hours. Even when Zayn, Liam, and Niall went and got food and brought it back, he ignored Savan when he asked them to take a break.   
  
So it comes as a surprise the next time Louis asks for a rewind, his voice higher than usual, strained, when Harry gets up off the floor and walks over to the mic.   
  
“Shut it off.” He says, voice breaking on the vowels from disuse. Savan just blinks, momentarily confused, before he turns off the playback. He pauses, considering, before he turns all the mics off, cutting communication.  
  
Niall’s eyes are glued to the way Harry’s body blocks Louis from their view, as if protecting him. They’re talking, or at least Harry is, from the way his head is moving, but Niall can’t see what he’s saying with his body slightly to the side like it is. His fingertips are just grazing Louis’s wrist, the only place they’re touching, but it makes Niall feel like they’re all intruding on something they aren’t meant to see.  
  
Zayn sighs, breaking the tension. He stretches his arms over his head and cracks his neck before saying, “I have never worked harder to stay awake in my life.” He stands, gathering his stuff into his backpack, and looks around at the rest of them. “We’re going now, right? Please tell me we’re going.”  
  
Paul just laughs and waves him off. “Yes, yes, you lot can go. I’ll bring them ‘round when once they finally come out.” He nods toward the booth, where Harry has pulled Louis down onto the floor, their backs against the door. They’re sitting next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, not bothering to acknowledge the people in the room behind them.  
  
Niall doesn’t know how to say he’d like to stay, too, so he doesn’t.

\--

Even though the whole day was arguably a day off for him, Niall can feel the tension in his spine as he’s laying in bed that night. He feels like he let Louis down, but as he runs the day through his head over and over he knows there wasn’t anything else he could have done. The unsettled feeling keeps him up for a long time, tossing back and forth so much that he gives up and turns on the TV. He’s flipping through the channels when he hears someone coming down the hall. He recognizes Harry’s low, rumbling murmurs. He mutes the TV, listens closer until he hears Louis’s voice answer. He can’t make out any words.  
  
He’s up before he even knows what he’s doing, unlatching the door and opening it just as they round the corner. Harry’s got an arm loosely draped around Louis’s shoulders, their hands clasped where it rests below Louis’s collarbone. Louis drops his hand to his side when he sees Niall.   
  
“You alright, mate?” Niall asks, aiming the question at the opposite wall. He doesn’t know why he opened the door.  
  
Louis just shrugs, smiling slightly. “Been better.”   
  
Niall hesitates. He doesn’t want to sound condescending, but he feels the need to say  something . “We can forget that one. It’s not high on the priority list, anyway.”   
  
Harry shifts imperceptibly closer to Louis, transferring his weight. He’s staring down the hall, not looking at either of them.  
  
Louis’s smile tightens just a little, but he bobs his head. “Sorry for taking the day. I know the schedule is tight as it is.”  
  
Harry whips his head around at that, glares hard at Niall, challenging him to agree.  
  
“Rubbish.” Niall smiles as genuinely as he can under the scrutiny, his palms out, conceding. Harry drops his gaze to Louis, waiting.   
  
“See you in the morn?” Louis says, a real smile on his face this time. Cautious, but there.  
  
“Yeah, ‘course. ‘Night.”   
  
Niall turns off the TV as he climbs back into bed. He hears one door close down the hall, waits for the second. It doesn’t come.

\--

These days Niall gets so anxious in the crowds that he’s taken to freezing up when when he’s meant to be moving along. It frustrates their bodyguards because Niall’s putting them all in danger when he lags, but he can’t help it, and it’s not like he has a general problem with anxiety. He’s sick of being made to feel like a child when Paul explains their exit strategies and everyone’s eyes land on him. How is he supposed to get used to the fact that at any given time there is a crowd of girls screaming his name as if he’s murdering them? He doesn’t get why the other lads don’t seem to have the same reaction.  
  
Today is his own fault, though, because he tweeted about being at the studio in his excitement about  finally laying down the guitar tracks he was promised, which was exactly what Paul had warned against. They can hear the chanting from the 5th floor, through soundproofed walls, and as the afternoon draws on the sound becomes this constant hum that settles into Niall’s skin, fucking with his ability to concentrate. His fingers keep missing the frets, creating reverb in the mic and frustrating the sound tech so much that the session is called earlier than scheduled. 

\--

Louis is the first to make him smile, of course.  
  
He bounds into the sound booth and almost upends the mic stand in order to congratulate Niall on his “sexy acoustic skills I mean honestly mate we get to call ourselves an actual  band now! If Liam ever limbers up enough we can be your back-up dancers on your first solo tour! We’ll be so sorry to see you go, but think of all the pussy you’ll get!” His grin is playful but his tone is sincere.  
  
“It was rubbish and you know it. Just wasted two hours for naught.” He failed, and it would be okay, but he can already see Rami revoking any further studio privileges. He can’t help how gutted he feels about it.  
  
Throwing an arm around his shoulder while adopting a solemn face, Louis lowers his voice and says, “If that’s rubbish then what’s my excuse? I spent half the morning mucking up those three notes again. I say we get trashed and forget the whole thing, yeah?” Niall can feel his own agitation reflected in Louis’s tone, the way Louis’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He leans into the older boy’s touch and relaxes a little, exhausted and familiar.   
  
“I could do for a pint, yeah. Think Savan’ll notice during warm ups tomorrow?”  
  
“Savan will choose the right path, my good lad. Tonight we drink for Ireland!” He ducks in and licks a hot stripe up Niall’s cheek before running out of the booth and down the hall, calling for the others in the worst attempt at an Irish accent Niall’s ever heard, a mixture between Mel Gibson in  Braveheart and Jeremy Irons. Niall doesn’t even bother trying to work out Louis’s logic before breaking into the first smile he’s worn all day and taking off after him.

\--

As they’re leaving the building and the screams mount Harry gets this ridiculous idea of how to calm Niall down which mostly consists of crowding against his back and tucking his chin into his neck, arms tight around his torso, and whispering “hey hey Nialler” in his ear while army marching them forward. The fans go nuts when they see it, and the barriers look in danger of failing. Niall freezes and tries to untangle their legs but it almost topples them both off the curb, making Harry cling tighter and start whispering fast and low about suppressing the nervous system and how his mom used to do it to calm him down when he had tantrums as a wee thing. And Niall really doesn’t want to associate how his dick twitches a little when Harry laughs into the skin of his neck with Harry’s mum. He  really doesn’t want to think about the fact that Harry’s physical proximity is creating a problem in his pants in front of  hundreds of screaming fans . He feels his face turn ruddy.  
  
It’s stupid, anyway, because the whole thing slows them down even more, makes Louis double over giggling, so when they finally get into the van Zayn and Liam have joined in and Zayn just keeps pointing at Niall’s face, breathless. He climbs over the seat, purposely kicking Zayn in the arm as he does it, and slumps against the window with his hat pulled low and his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. Still close behind, Harry climbs over the seat and half falls into Niall’s lap, all hands as he uprights himself and presses a wet kiss to Niall’s forehead, knocking his cap clear off. “That was easy, yeah?” Harry says, triumphant, his grin slow and easy. And Niall’s dick doesn’t twitch again, it doesn’t. But it might when Harry unconsciously licks his bottom lip like he does onstage after a long solo. Niall will never admit to it. He squirms in his seat and looks away, meets Louis’s eye.   
  
“Alcohol. Now.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as churlish as it does, which sets Liam and Zayn off again. Louis just gazes steadily at him, a knowing smirk crooking the corner of his mouth. And Niall really doesn’t know what to do with that so he pulls out his phone and checks Twitter, ignoring the way Harry’s fingertips keep absently grazing his thigh in simple little patterns as he smiles adoringly out the window at the girls running after the van. He’s still tense, his skin feels too tight and exposed even with the tinted windows, and he can feel Louis’s eyes on him as he tries to shift away from Harry without being rude.   
  
Liam composes himself enough to gasp out something that sounds like “but your face,” breaking Niall from his thoughts and setting them all off again, tired and slap happy, and he kind of wants to kill all of them, go solo like Louis said, take his chances.

\--

Back at the hotel Niall isn’t given much reprieve. Paul agrees to go on a beer run - “Niall’s choice tonight, lads! Pints and pizza!” Louis had insisted as they pulled into the car park to be dropped off - which turns into a beer and junk food run, which results in the lads following Niall to his room and sprawling all over his bed and the tiny little loveseat sat under the window. Sometimes he thinks the codependency thing isn’t as charming as the media would have one believe.   
  
He drops his backpack and toes off his trainers before announcing to no one in particular, “I’m off to shower.” Zayn already has the telly on, flipping channels without really paying attention, and Niall can tell Liam’s still got the bridge of the new track on his mind because he keeps tapping his right foot to an internal staccato rhythm. When no one moves to leave so he can have some privacy Niall just sighs and grabs some shorts, heading into the loo without bothering to lock the door. He knows Harry’ll be in within five minutes to piss, like clockwork.

\--

When the door opens he doesn’t even bother turning around, just moves his head out from under the spray long enough to call out, “try not to get any on the floor this time, Hazza.” Usually quick with the comeback, Harry doesn’t respond, but Niall is too tired to think much of it until the shower door opens and Niall turns to stare at a naked Harry coming toward him. Absently he registers that Harry has a flimsy hotel shower cap on.  
  
“What’s this then?” He says, frozen but not as confused as one perhaps should be in the same situation. It’s just, Harry gets naked and walks around  all the time and Niall came to terms with that a long time ago. He is, however, new to being naked  alongside Harry.   
  
Harry just shrugs and crowds close, the steam circling his shower cap in curling tendrils, and Niall doesn’t know what to do so he backs up, almost to the wall, letting the spray hit Harry’s chest. Niall’s eyes unconsciously follow the rivulets of water as they run down Harry’s body gathering at the v of his hips, before he comes to, snaps his head up, meets Harry’s steady gaze.   
  
“Keep quiet so the lads don’t hear, yeah?” Is all Harry says with a small smirk as he drops to his knees.  
  
Niall doesn’t even hesitate, just grabs Harry’s elbows and hauls him up. “You’ll kill your knees, Jesus.” What he doesn’t say is “What are you doing?” or “What about Louis?” or even “Why?” along with the hundreds of other questions he knows he should be asking. Harry’s smile makes Niall want to run away, but he’s still clutching Harry’s arm, so he drops it, feels his face flush. Harry’s smile widens and he huffs out a little laugh.  
  
“Lou was right. You’re kind of perfect.” He pauses, considering. “I’ll be right back and then I would really like to suck you off. Quickly, if you’ve a mind. Don’t want to be missed.” It’s not a question. He opens the door again, getting water all over the floor, not bothering to close it behind him.  
  
Leaning his head under the water, rinsing the rest of the shampoo from his hair, Niall doesn’t have time to try to make sense of the situation before Harry returns with a folded towel. He haphazardly drops it on the floor, kicking it into place just past the drain, before kneeling on it as it quickly soaks through.   
  
“I don’t--” Niall tries, but Harry’s already wrapped a hand around his semi-hard dick, and Niall forgets to finish. He forgets everything, actually, except the way Harry looks as he concentrates. He’s got one hand fisted around Niall, thumbing over the tip with each steady pump, until Niall feels like he might explode from the slow tension. His body responds, of course it does, because he’s eighteen and has had a terrible day and had half a mind to wank himself when he started the shower. Harry looks up at him, locking eyes, as he licks the tip experimentally, wearing a pleased smile when Niall uselessly bucks his hips a little, before his grip tightens and then his mouth is hot around Niall’s cock.  
  
And good god, Harry’s lips look pornographic as he meets Niall’s gaze and takes him as far back as he can without choking. He keeps his right hand tight around the base, twisting his fist in quick little motions while he works the shaft, and Niall can’t help the way his hips thrust with each bob of Harry’s head.   
  
He knows he’s not going to last, because he hasn’t been properly laid in some months, and anyway Harry keeps humming, his tongue thick and flat on the underside of Niall’s cock. Harry uses his free hand to push Niall back against the wall, sending the water splashing between them, the water clinging to Harry’s eyelashes, forcing him to close his eyes. Niall can feel his orgasm building in the base of his spine, and he leans his head against the wall, trying to warn Harry by touching his shoulder lightly. He’s dimly aware it’s the only other place they’re touching, but he can’t think, he can’t focus on anything but Harry’s teeth lightly grazing the head of his cock.  
  
Harry’s response is to hold Niall in place, fingers digging into the flesh of his hips, while he starts taking Niall’s cock deeper, working his throat open to go as far back as he can. Niall feels his dick touch the back of Harry’s throat, making him lift his head to look down again. And he finally recognizes how ridiculous Harry looks kneeling on a soggy towel, wearing a shower cap (God,  of course he would worry about his hair getting wet), sucking Niall off with four people in the next room. He comes with a hysterical bubble of laughter that’s half sob. Harry pets his thighs through the spasms that follow, swallowing twice before bobbing off with a little pop that’s mostly drowned by the steady sound of the water.   
  
He stands up, cheeks pink, a small smile hovering near the corner of his mouth. The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes. Niall’s heart is beating too fast and his legs feel so weak he’s afraid he might slide down the wall, but he can’t bring himself to say anything.  
  
“Genius idea, that.” Harry says, lower and duller than usual, and Niall tries not to think of why his voice sounds so wrecked.   
  
“What?” He says, disoriented and confused and stupid.  
  
“The towel. Right smart of you.”   
  
“But I didn’t--” Niall begins, but then Harry is leaning forward. He grips Niall’s upper arm firmly, hand circling the bicep, and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “You should finish cleaning up.”  
  
And then he’s gone.

\--

Niall stands under the water as long as he can justify, his bicep still smarting from Harry’s grip.  It takes a long time for his heart to stop racing. When he finally steps out of the shower stall the skin of his hands and feet are pruned and misshapen and his whole body immediately explodes in goosebumps. He reaches for the towel hanging closest only to find it damp. He looks back at the towel on the floor in the shower enclosure. Harry. And it’s just like him, too, to take things without thinking of the others. He has this way of smiling up through his eyelashes that makes the boys share their food and their hoodies and their body heat without hesitation. Niall dries off as best he can, taking his time putting on clothes. Staring at himself in the mirror, he doesn’t know how to stop his eyebrows from frowning.

\--

Paul’s laid out on the tiny loveseat. drinking a beer out of the side of his mouth. He’s refrained from the pizza and junk food, eating stalks of celery and looking miserable. Niall thinks the beer negates the veg, but doesn’t say anything. Paul’s struggle with his diet is not something he cares about at the moment. As it is he’s spent the last hour sat in between Zayn and Liam on the floor, trying to engage in the conversation, to at least pay attention to the program on the TV, a rerun of Friends he’s seen more times than he can count. But he feels Louis’s eyes follow him, and he keeps thinking of the way Harry’s lips looked after he swallowed, and regular conversation is not something he’s capable of, apparently. He knows he shouldn’t be drinking so much, but every time he finishes a beer he immediately grabs for another out of the mini fridge, heedless of the busy schedule they have in the morning.  
  
Of course Harry is as tactile as always, hanging off the bed and across Liam’s lap to steal Zayn’s candy and ruffling Niall’s hair as he clambers backwards, holding himself up by his elbows, legs sprawled behind him. His lips are so red Niall has trouble looking away as Harry takes steady pulls from the bottle in his hand. The muscles in his throat work the liquid down and Niall can feel himself go semi-hard again. He shifts against the bureau he’s leaning back on, his knee almost upending the beer Liam has been nursing forever. It’s frustrating because he’s turned on and just as tense as when they left the studio, so he keeps quiet and frowns down at the ground more often than not. Even Zayn knows to keep his distance, only knocking his leg against Niall every little while as if to say  hey . Normally Niall would welcome Zayn’s intuitiveness, but his ass is asleep and he’s the kind of drunk that makes him feel strung too tight and belligerent, so he laughs half a beat too late and doesn’t move his hands except to grab at the pizza box.  
  
It doesn’t help that Louis has stayed quiet, sat up against the headboard, a beer in one hand and the other circled around Harry’s ankle, like a brand. Niall can’t help but notice the space between, room enough for another body. Of course they claimed the whole bed for themselves. He tries not to dwell. It doesn’t go as well as he hoped.

\--

Paul’s wife calls so he excuses himself, reminding them over his shoulder of their schedule in the morning and telling them not to stay up too late even though it’s already half eleven and they’ve been up since five in the morning. Zayn drags Liam out not long after that when he sees the way Liam’s blinking becomes slow. Zayn’s wide awake, having napped at the studio instead of eating lunch with the rest of them, but Niall can tell he’d rather be alone than deal with a drunken Irishman. He doesn’t blame him.  
  
As the door closes behind Liam’s slouched figure, Niall drags himself up off the floor and over to the trash can to begin cleaning up. Normally he wouldn’t bother, but he needs to do something so he doesn’t have to talk to the two on the bed. He’s clumsy in his intoxication, spilling crumbs all over the carpet when he picks up the pizza boxes. And suddenly Louis is there, grabbing the wrappers littering the floor and steadying Niall’s hand.   
  
Niall flinches, reaction slowed. “I’ve got it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out so defensive.  
  
“Okay,” Louis says, taking a step back. He blinks. “Okay,” he says again for sincerity.  
  
“Can’t we just sleep here? I don’t wanna go all the way down the hall.” Harry has rolled onto his back and is texting his mother, something he always does when he’s been drinking. Niall has never understood why someone would drunk text his own parents -- Harry always stares blankly at him when he says so.  
  
Louis looks hard at the top of Harry’s head and then back at Niall for a moment before answering. “I think we should let Niall sleep. He’s had a long day.” He gives nothing away, his tone even, making Niall want to throw the bottle he’s holding directly at him, just to get some sort of a response.  
  
Harry frowns at the ceiling, looks at them upside down, contemplating, before he rolls sideways off the bed and onto his hands and knees. He jumps up. “Oy. Head rush.” And without a backward glance he bounds into the bathroom to piss, not bothering to close the door behind him.   
  
Niall moves to toss the beer in the bin before he makes good on his brain’s drunken wishes. Louis scoops up a torn bag of Skittles into his palm and tosses them on top, the hard shells plinking as they hit the bottle.   
  
He looks at Niall steadily, standing too close to properly focus on. He’s all jawline and patches of stubble, and Niall has to stop himself from leaning in the last couple of centimeters to rub his nose along the coarse hairs. When he speaks Louis’s breath is beer-soured and sweet from the candy. “Hey hey Nialler. Just. Don’t think so much.” He lifts a hand to trace Niall’s ear, so light it tickles, sets him shivering. Niall wants to lean into Louis’s hand, wants to know they’ll be okay, that Harry sucking him off hasn’t fucked things up between them. He should apologize, fuck, he doesn’t know, he should have stopped Harry. Except he doesn’t want to. Didn’t want to. He wants Louis to say it was all right. But mostly he wants Louis to keep touching him, to tell him that the terrible day in the studio isn’t a reflection of their contribution to the band. Because he wasn’t the only quiet one tonight.   
  
The toilet flushes before Niall’s hazy brain has a chance to say any of these things. And then Louis’s across the room again, grabbing more garbage off the nightstand.   
  
“Lead me to bed, Lou,” Harry demands as he comes out of the bathroom, voice even slower than usual, slurred by exhaustion and alcohol. He makes as if to climb Louis’s back before thinking better of it, so he ends up plastered to his back instead, arms wrapping his torso and cheek pressed to his neck. “‘m taller’n you now.” He mumbles into Louis’s neck, a hint of surprise in his voice.  
  
Louis’s smile turns soft, indulgent. “I’m still your elder, young Harold.” He ducks his head and reaches his hands behind him to find Harry’s front pants pockets, slips them in.  
  
Harry hums, pleased, and smiles at Niall. “You look like an angel with your blond hair and pink cheeks. Told my mum that.”  
  
Louis laughs, an unexpected bark in the quiet room. It’s the first time he’s done so since they got back to the hotel. It goes right through Niall’s chest.   
  
“And with that, I think it’s time we bid you adieu. Come on, little bird.” He untangles Harry from his back and pushes him forward, hands anchored on either side of his waist. As Harry passes Niall he pokes his cheek, making Niall stumble back a step. Louis just smiles wider and steers them down the hall. Niall can hear Harry mumble “I want to keep him forever” but can’t make out Louis’s response before the door shuts.   
  
He falls into bed, too drunk and stupid to bother with the security latch. His duvet smells like the dry shampoo Harry uses and it unsettles him, so he kicks the blanket off the bed and rolls onto his stomach, exhausted. 

\--

He wakes up sometime later to piss and ends up puking instead. Blearily he reaches for his toothbrush, tries to rid his mouth of the taste, before stumbling out of the toilet and directly into the mini-fridge trying to find a water bottle. When he checks his phone the time reads half one. It’s not often that Niall regrets drinking, but when he falls back into bed he genuinely hates his life. The next time he’s woken it’s because the bed is moving under him, just enough to jostle his legs. Then he hears the voices. Soft little moans. A bubble of laughter, quickly shushed. At first he thinks he’s dreaming, still too drunk and tired to make out any words or lift his head. But then he hears Harry’s voice, close, ending in a whine, “God, Lou,” and he opens his eyes, stares at the wall in the dark, trying to remains calm. Thankfully his pillow hides most of his face, but he can feel his pulse jump.  
  
“You’re being too careful, come on.” And Niall can’t see what’s happening, but from the way Harry moans, low and breathless, he can imagine. The bed dips more, weight shifting, and Louis’s voice is lower than Niall’s ever heard it when he says, “You said he was bigger than me, I don’t want you to get hurt. We’ve too long a day tomorrow for you to be complaining about your arse the whole time.” He must do something with his hands then, because Harry keens low and rough and the bed shakes with his trembling.  
  
“Jealous, Lewis?” Harry chokes out. Niall holds his own breath, waits for an answer. He wonders what time it is. He could have sworn he was alone when he fell asleep. He wasn’t  that drunk.  
  
Louis is silent, but he must do something again because Harry laughs, breathless, and it turns into a moan, quickly muffled. Niall tries not to think about how, but he feels his dick begin to harden, and he knows he’s fucked either way.  
  
“You never can keep quiet, can you?” He can hear the affection in Louis’s voice, and it hits him how intimate the whole situation is; he feels like he’s intruding on something private. The anger hits him, delayed, because Jesus Christ they’re in  his room, and he didn’t ask for this. He just wanted to get pissed and pass out, and now he’s being sucked into some sort of fucked up game.  
  
“Wait until he blushes. You’ll have a hard time keeping quiet yourself.” There’s a pause, some shuffling. “You might want to stop that if you want this plan to work, by the way.” The words come out labored.   
  
Louis laughs, light and quick. Niall just wishes they would tell him what they want from him.   
  
And then there are hands on him, warm and calloused, trying to lift his shirt up. He starts at the sudden touch, makes a small sound of surprise, and he knows it’s Harry because his hands are clumsy, fumbling with the hem. They’re dry, too, but Niall isn’t prepared to acknowledge that.   
  
Harry hums happily in Niall’s ear just out of sight. Not until he straddles Niall’s back and rucks the shirt as far up as he can does Niall see Harry’s curls in his peripheral vision. He’s not even entirely sure what Harry is currently doing with his tongue, but he can feel the soft, open-mouthed kisses along his spine and he tenses, just slightly, because he still can’t see where Louis is with his face pressed into the pillow, but he can feel his weight at the edge of the bed, an inescapable gravitational pull.   
  
As if sensing Niall’s unease, someone cups a palm around his calf, and suddenly Louis’s voice is in his ear, soft and low, “Hey hey, Nialler. Let us take care of you.”  
  
And Niall knows he should make them stop, he knows this is a bad idea for the band, their friendship, Niall’s sanity, but he’s also tired and half drunk and not cautious enough. His sudden need to be touched threatens to overwhelm him, embarrassed by how intimate it’s become -- the streetlamp is casting shadows on the wall, providing the only light, and he feels momentarily old, older than anyone under the age of twenty should.  
  
Harry’s mouth reaches the back of his neck and he bites down, hard, causing Niall to lose his train of thought, hands fisting into balls under the pillow to keep himself from moving too much, making a sound.   
  
“Lou says I should have asked. Earlier.” Harry says, breath ghosting against the bitten skin of Niall’s neck. His tone is far from apologetic.   
  
“How’d you get in?” Niall says, voice muffled by the pillow, ignoring Harry’s dick digging into his ass, buying himself some time so he can figure out what to do.   
  
“Nicked your key when you were sulking earlier. So anyway, will you fuck me?” He grinds down a little for emphasis, his hands still roaming all over Niall’s back and sides, nails scratching lightly. Louis hasn’t moved his hand, hasn’t said anything else, and Niall can’t help but think of the way he held Harry’s ankle earlier in the night. He shifts a little, sucking in a breath when the friction makes his dick harden further. It makes Harry laugh and grind down again.   
  
“Come on, Nialler. Louis used three fingers. Took his time, too. I’m ready. You don’t want him to have all the fun.” His voice takes on another low whine. He shifts back to sit between Niall’s legs and starts tugging at his shorts.  
  
Louis finally moves, his weight leaving the bed. He whacks Harry and gets an indignant “Hey!” but cuts any further whining off. “You need to learn some patience, Hazza.”  
  
Walking around the edge of the bed, he leans down so he’s eye-level with Niall. The streetlamp makes him look flawless, all eyelashes and shadow. His fingers graze the hair at Niall’s temple as he says, low enough that even Niall has trouble hearing, “I told you to stop thinking so much.” He leans in, kisses Niall crookedly on the forehead, and gives his shoulder a push. It’s a suggestion, no expectation in it, and Niall’s resolve breaks.  
  
He rolls over, careful not to kick Harry in the face or something, and sits up.   
  
“Oh thank God, I thought I was going to have to hump you to death.” Harry’s smile is cheeky, but Niall knows he’s mostly serious. It makes him laugh.   
  
“Good to have you back, mate.” Louis says. Niall doesn’t know what one does in this sort of a situation with two bandmates, one of which is naked and clearly aroused. He feels nervous and exposed even with Harry’s casual nudity, so he recklessly leans forward and kisses him, catching the corner of his mouth.

\--

Harry keeps giggling and saying to no one in particular, “This is the greatest idea ever!” And Niall can’t help but laugh, because there are hands everywhere, and Harry keeps biting him in his excitement. He’s still cautious, because Louis is perched on the side of the bed, not participating so much as watching, and it makes Niall nervous. He doesn’t know how to ask for things, and he doesn’t know if he should.  
  
But then Louis lays a hand on Harry’s back -- Harry, who’s currently laying on top of Niall, an impossibly heavy weight, but not entirely unpleasant, keeps grinding their hips together and kissing every patch of skin he can find -- and he gets up with a pout, leans back on his heels.  
  
“You ready?” Louis asks, directing the question at Niall.  
  
Niall blushes bright red. “Uhm, yeah? Yes.” It sends Harry collapsing into giggles.  
  
“You see? Louis, I  told you . He is literally made of sunshine!” Harry’s approach to sex is new to Niall. He’s casual in his intimacy and enthusiastic and so entirely  Harry that it makes Niall’s stomach ache.  
  
Louis smiles, and Niall knows he’s laughing at him just a little bit.   
  
“I’m Irish you arse. We can’t help it.” He swats at Harry, missing his chest and hitting his dick instead, which makes Harry’s eyes go wide and Louis laugh. Niall feels the blush spread to his chest.   
  
“You hit me in the cock. Louis, he just hit me in the cock!” Harry’s indignation is short-lived, however, when Louis rips open the foil packet and starts rolling it onto Niall’s dick, hands steady and sure.   
  
“How do you want him?” He asks, looking up through his eyelashes, making Niall lose his breath. He’s just so fucking  pretty .  
  
He recovers enough to make a vague motion with his hands, and Louis just smiles, moves them around until he’s against the headboard, Harry leaning against his chest. Niall kneels in front of them, hesitating.   
  
“He likes it when he can put his legs over your shoulders.” Louis says, and Harry nods enthusiastically, already lifting them.  
  
“Just. Go slow, okay?” Louis says, but Harry slaps his thigh and cuts in, “Don’t be such a spoilsport.”  
  
And then Niall is pushing in, deeper and deeper, agonizingly slowly. Harry’s still so tight, and his keening noises are driving Niall crazy, but he doesn’t want to hurt him. He pulls out a little, grips Harry’s impossibly long legs, and snaps his hips forward quickly, shallowly. He’s rewarded with Harry’s pleased little moan. It encourages him to try again. He’s never felt more sober in his life.

\--

Niall wants to leave marks but he doesn’t know if it’s okay, so he keeps his touches light, running his fingertips featherlight over the skin of Harry’s chest. He’s fascinated by the trail of gooseflesh that he leaves behind and experimentally flicks one of Harry’s nipples with a blunt nail. He watches the way Harry’s head falls back against Louis’s shoulder, as if just expecting it to be there. If Harry wasn’t mumbling his name over and over, mindless, Niall might think he was intruding on a private moment. Louis’s eyes are still watching him, though, and it doesn’t feel like judgment, or challenge, so Niall works up the courage to thrust deeper, moving his hands down to press his thumbs firmly into the skin at the v of Harry’s hips.  
  
“Fuck, Nialler.” Harry looks at him through half-lidded eyes, his mouth hanging partly open, and Niall almost loses it right then, but Louis’s moving, unpeeling himself from Harry’s back and twisting out from behind him, using a pillow to replace his support.   
  
Niall stutters a moment, loses his pace, unsure. But Louis just smiles at him, pushes two fingers to the pulse point at the hollow of Niall’s neck, and urges him to continue. “Keep going, then, love. Harry needs you.” And it’s all Niall can do to keep from falling apart. He pushes his mouth against Louis’s, the kiss sloppy and uneven, but it’s enough when he can swallow some of the same air, feel Louis’s hand grip his hair and push back.   
  
Harry starts pawing at Niall’s chest, scratching mindlessly when he can’t find purchase, until he finally grabs onto Niall’s wrists and holds so tightly his knuckles turn red, then white. He’s pressing Niall’s hands harder against the thin skin at his hips, and Niall knows there’ll be bruises in the morning.   
  
Louis takes the opportunity to reach in between their bodies and fist Harry’s cock, twisting his wrist with each pump. It only takes a few strokes before Harry’s tightening around Niall and stuttering out nonsense as he comes overs Louis’s hand. Niall increases his speed, thrusting as hard as he dares, bending Harry forward, his legs at an impossible angle. He comes with a half sob caught in his throat. Louis is still mouthing at his jaw and sort of petting Harry’s side, and Niall can’t stem the sudden need to keep touching Louis.   
  
He pulls out, letting Harry’s legs fall boneless to the mattress, and takes the condom off, tossing it in the general vicinity of the bin. He feels lightheaded and entirely too sober. Harry is staring at him with a dopey smile, blissed out and overstimulated.   
  
Louis’s still almost fully clothed, his boxers tented, and Niall really wants to touch him. Louis must see something on his face, because he leans into Niall’s space, hands at his hips, and just sort of smiles crookedly.   
  
“Can I--?” Niall asks, closing the distance for a proper kiss. It’s chaste, like Louis is afraid of scaring him away, and Niall doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to Louis to worry. He pulls Louis closer, hand on the back of his neck, and deepens the kiss. He feels Louis tremble, just slightly, and it breaks him. He licks into Louis’s mouth, gaining confidence when Louis moans. Louis’s tongue presses against his braces, and it’s a weird feeling, although not unwelcome. His lips feel bruised and swollen. Louis kisses like he’s trying to climb into Niall, hands roaming all over. He swallows all the air in Niall’s lungs, and they don’t break apart until they’re both panting.   
  
“I want. I’ve never.” Niall stops. He’s never given a blow job before. Louis just smiles, pupils blown, and buries his face in Niall’s neck, giggling. The sound goes right through him.  
  
Harry pulls Niall down, half on top of him, toppling Louis as well. They end up in a pile at the head of the bed. Harry stage whispers at the both of them, “Are you trying to tell us you’ve never given a blow job before, Niall Horan?”   
  
“Shut up. It’s not uncommon, you know.” He doesn’t sulk, but he knows he sounds defensive. It makes Louis laugh harder and roll off Niall’s chest onto his back. Harry pushes Niall forward until they’re both on their sides. He hooks his chin over Niall’s shoulder so they can both stare down at Louis.   
  
“You probably shouldn’t start tonight, then. Got the new demo tomorrow. If you tear your lips up on your braces I don’t want to be held responsible for telling everyone you went and got yourself a fat lip from the mini fridge.” Harry’s voice is full of mirth, but Niall can’t bring himself to agree. He wants to do this for Louis.   
  
“One thing at a time, yeah?” Louis says, hushed.  
  
Harry reaches over Niall and tugs the button of Louis’s boxers until his erection is free.   
  
“I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to a good wank, would you Lou?” Louis just shifts his hips, looks at Niall. He doesn’t ask, but Niall understands.  
  
Harry spits into Niall’s left hand and wraps it around the base of Louis’s cock, making him hiss out a quiet “Fuck. We have lube, you know. I used it for your ass, remember?”   
  
Harry tangles his hand with Niall’s and starting pumping slowly up and down. His lips are at Niall’s ear when he responds. “It’s on the floor somewhere and our hands are on your dick right now. Would you rather we stopped?”   
  
It’s Niall that answers. “Jesus, no.” Harry laughs, pleased. Louis just looks at Niall like he’s some sort of apparition.  
  
“He likes it when you twist a little at the tip, use your thumb.” Harry’s voice has dropped, the timbre of it makes Niall shiver a little. He lets his hand go slack a little, allowing Niall to experiment. He brings his thumb up over the tip with the next pump, twisting, and Louis lets out a low moan, eyes falling closed. Niall takes it as invitation and pumps faster, creating a rhythm. Louis starts bucking into their hands, hips lifting to meet their fists. It gets hard for Niall to keep the pace, but the way Louis is saying his name makes him think he won’t last much longer anyway.   
  
Harry nuzzles at Niall’s neck, whispering, “Come on, Lou,” into the skin there, and then Louis is coming, repeating “Fuck” over and over as he rides it out, eyes squeezed shut.  
  
Harry and Niall lay back, the three of them shoulder to shoulder, staring at the ceiling for a while. After a few minutes Niall can feel their breathing start to match until it sounds like they’re one set of lungs.  
  
“What time is it?” He asks, breaking the silence.  
  
Harry yawns. “Way too late for how early we have to be up. Now roll over so I can cuddle you.” 

\--

Niall thinks he should feel weightless; he certainly feels boneless and lucid, but there’s still a pull behind his navel that’s keeping him from any kind of transcendence. Harry’s already half asleep when he snuggles in closer behind Niall, leaving no space between them. He keeps mumbling nonsense into the back of Niall’s neck, his breath tickling the hairs there. Louis moves to grab the duvet off the floor and covers them with it before climbing under himself, facing them. He leaves space, enough for another body, and it makes Niall feel a little desperate, so he pulls on Louis’s waist until he moves close, closer, tangling their legs together. Louis uses his index finger to trace Niall’s face over and over again as if committing it to memory.   
  
They fall asleep staring at each other.

\--

Niall wakes up fifteen minutes before his alarm is set to go off feeling too warm, a little claustrophobic from the heat. He starts when he hears Harry’s soft snores in his ears. It takes him a moment to reorient, remember the night before (it’s only been a few hours, really, and Niall never wants to get up). Louis hasn’t moved, leg still wedged between Niall’s knees. He can feel a sticky spot on his back where Harry must have drooled, but he can’t bring himself to care. His arm is asleep under him, though, so he tries shifting only to find himself unable to. When he looks down he sees Harry and Louis’s hands clasped on his waist, anchoring him to the mattress. 


End file.
